


And Then We'll Feast

by FortinbrasFTW



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Food, Happy Ending, Just buds being buds, Multi, Post-Canon, bless this prompt for letting me write just so much damn food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortinbrasFTW/pseuds/FortinbrasFTW
Summary: In the late-spring following a hopeful happy ending, the adventurers pass through a celebrating Rosemerrow and Throndir realizes how much food he still hasn’t discovered. Luckily everyone has their own flavor of suggestions.





	And Then We'll Feast

**Author's Note:**

> Done as a pinch hit for Secret Samol 2017 for @R3fin3 - I missed the original sign-ups so I was so glad I got to join in after all. Thanks for the great prompt, I had the best time writing tasty snacks all day <3

“A… _burger_?” Throndir repeated.

“Yeah!” Fero beamed. He lifted himself up on his tiptoes to reach the menu on the heavily lacquered red-wood bar. “You’ve seriously never had a _burger_? We’re fixing this. Now.”

The inn was packed to the gills, but having a dog the size of a small cow, an orc, and a woman who looked like an entire army jammed-packed into one body sure did help when you needed to find a spot at the bar. He couldn’t believe how busy Rosemerrow had gotten, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. With the returning warm weather folk from all parts had flooded down to the city, and for whatever reason they all had too, but Throndir couldn’t deny he was loving it.

The windows of the inn were open, letting in breezes packed with the smell of thawing earth and salted by the sea to circle. The clamour of voices bounced all around, mostly laughter and merriment, a few brawls and shouts in the mix, but all of it _alive_ in a way that felt like a comfortable fur slung around his shoulders. Spaces like this used to make him twitchy. Crowds would always make that trapped feeling snaking up the back of his neck, remnants from a life lived in hollow woods and sparse silent villages. But now the voices, the warmth of bodies, the hum of it all, it coursed through him like a choir. They were alive. They were all _alive_. From the patrons shouting to the bartender, to the merchants trying to sell straw beach hats and flowered shirts outside the road, to the soldiers throwing casks of rum into the crowds down on the docks, and tonight it felt as though every soul just had to show the darkness that it hadn’t smothered their spark.

“What, uh, is it?” Throndir asked.

“Don’t even worry about it,” Fero called back, waving in the direction of the bartender as she madly tried to keep up with the orders.

“I wouldn’t trust that if I were you,” Lem whisper-yelled next to him above the din.

Throndir grinned over his shoulder. “Nah, it sounds… hearty. Honestly I’m so starved right now, I could probably take down everything on this menu.” He wiggled the hand-scripted sheet of beer-stained paper. “It’s crazy, I don’t know if it’s just, well the whole not being dead thing, but I haven’t been this excited for a good meal since I first got to Velas.”

“Then you need something better than a _burger_ ,” Lem insisted suddenly, shoving his way to the counter next to him. Kodiak woofed up, licking at his hands. “Look, here,” Lem slid the menu with a quick spin to face him. He jammed a finger down. “This. That’s what you want.”

Throndir scrunched up his nose as he read. “Paet?”

“Pâté,” Lem corrected with a flourish. “They do it great. I was pretty skeptical at first but Emmanuel guilted me and it’s divine.”

“Why would you be skeptical? What is it?”

Lem held his eyes for a moment before turning away. “Fero, Fero, hold up,” he snatched at his arm pulling him back. “We’re getting Pâté!”

“Oh jeez, Lem, _come on_! We are not!”

“Yes we are, Throndir deserves it.”

Kodiak woofed happily and Throndir grinned at him.

“Listen,” Fero spun on him, a little too off-balance after slugging that last chocolate-stout. Lem caught his shoulder and stabilized him but Fero shrugged him off. “Listen, _listen_ … That’s bullshit. No one wants ‘Pâté’. It’s just all the chopped up bits that no one wanted to begin with with some shitty mustard on the side.”

“What?” Throndir started.

“And, _and!_ They give you those tiny pickles on the side. What the hell is that all about? Who the fuck wants pickles the size of toes. Weird little pickle toes, fuck off! And no one wants chopped up innards either.”

“No, no, nonono,” Lem shook his hands at Throndir in an attempt to be consoling, “that’s not, I mean, it isn’t, look: it’s delicious. You won’t regret it. And,” he looked pointedly at Fero, “the pickles are just _fine_.”

“You’re both bullies,” Adaire sniffed from behind Throndir’s back. The bartender turned fast enough to drop her a glass of wine before swirling back to the other crying customers as Fero tried to catch her helplessly. “Don’t listen to them Throndir,” Adaire winked. “Get whatever you want.”

Throndir laughed. It was a funny feeling, how the lazy warmth from the booze mingled with the sharp supernatural satisfaction that came from the pressing crowds. “What would you get, Adaire?”

“Mmm,” Adaire hummed thoughtfully, smelling her wine and reaching one hand down to bury in Kodiak’s fluff. “Nothing in here.”

“Helpful.”

She rolled her eyes then lowered her voice, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’d get Simple Sam’s Dumplings. 

“Dumplings?”

She nodded, sipping the wine. He could smell it from where he was sitting, all oak and tickling nutmeg. She kept her voice low, just for them. “There’s a street vendor, Simple Sam, in the Kickshaw. Green cart with gold trim and little chimes on the front. So if you’re around there, and hear chimes, follow them because let me tell you, _that’s_ good food.”

“What’s it like?” he asked eagerly.

Adaire smiled and leaned in against the bar. “So imagine ground pork, right? Only it’s chopped up and kneaded together with minced garlic and black pepper and some chunky sea-salt and just enough of this spice. I don’t know what it is, but it smells like, well a little like now, when the ground starts to thaw in spring, you know? So imagine that, all pinched together into one perfect mouthful, and that sounds pretty good right?”

Throndir didn’t even try to hide how entranced he was. “Yeah!”

“‘Yeah’ is right, only _next_ , you take a dough that’s nice and thin but succulent too, right? And you wrap the dough _around_ that little pork miracle, and pinch it shut, and cook it in steam. And that’s important because it means it’s still soft and it’s a little slippery on your tongue, but then you take that and you cook it hard: one side down to a skillet with vinegar and this sauce that’s a kinda like just barely burnt lemons. That way there’s a crisp bite on one side where the flavors have burned in, all smoke and salt.” She let her eyes close as she took another sip of wine, then opened them again with a wave of her hand. “Oh, and then there’s of course _more_ vinegar to dip it in, with crisp green onions floating across the top and chili flakes. That part’s the most important.”

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know about your shame dumplings.” Adaire went red as Hella pushed in between them, her big shoulder nudging warmly against Throndir’s as her arm found the bar on Adaire’s opposite side, squishing Adaire’s frame into the space between.  

“ _Shame_ dumplings? They sound amazing!” Throndir said.

“Mm, they are, but they’re _street_ food. And our Adaire’s supposed to be too good for that.”

“Oh shut up,” Adaire glowered.

Hella laughed, and it sounded good, low and comfortable. She laughed more these days. It matched the smell of her that joined in with the others around them: peaty and crisp and a bit like rivers in the heat of summer hidden under a forest’s shade. 

“She really goes to town too, you know,” Hella said.

“Hella!”

“Seriously. She makes this delighted little face like when cats roll upside down to play with a mouse and she gets the sauce all over her chin because she’s too excited to--”

Adaire smacked her shoulder. Throndir opened his mouth to comfort her but a bellow from the door pulled his attention. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was, no one else laughed like that. He didn’t have to look, but he looked all the same.

Red Jack cleared a path through the crowd easily, and it wasn’t just his size. That certainly helped but it was the way he drew attention was what really did the trick. Everyone turned to see just who the hell was yelling with a voice deep enough to almost make the floorboards rumble, and when you saw someone like Red Jack for the first time, hell the hundreth, you couldn’t help taking at least one good step back. It took Throndir longer than it should have to notice Hadrian and Ephrim pushing their way through the crowd right along with him.

Red Jack reached them first as Kodiak barked happily. The oni landed a hand the size of Throndir’s head against his back with a heartily slap. “These Halflings! They certainly know how to turn a penny, eh?”

Adaire turned to look and him and instantly choked on her wine. Red Jack was wearing one of those ridiculous straw hats the street-vendors were trying to pawn off on unsuspecting tourists outside. It was made of woven reeds, painted bright yellow with orange suns around the rim. There were even little figurines sticking out of the sides, strange long pink birds with menacing beaks that Throndir didn’t recognize. It looked like some enterprising salesperson had even cut neat little holes in the top so Red Jack’s horns could poke through.

Hella gave Adaire a few good slaps on the back as she tried to come back to herself.

“Don’t even ask, he wouldn’t listen,” Ephrim complained, slight frame neatly sidling up to the bar between Lem and Throndir. He picked an invisible hair off of the surface before leaning closer in.

“It suits me!” Red Jack boomed. “The man said so!”

“Sure does,” Hadrian grinned, and _winked_ at Throndir.

That was new, but it wasn’t the first change he’d noticed since, well, since everything. It was amazing really, how Hadrian had… changed wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t a change, not really, because he felt the same as he’d always been. It felt more as though this Hadrian had been hidden beneath layers of shadows, filters of concern and doubt and darkness that the world had sifted on top of him. He reminded Throndir of the animals in those small springs they had in the mountains, how there were birds that spent the winter huddled under firs, nibbling at bark, their voices barely heard, and then in the spring suddenly they came to life: fresh colors busting over their plumage and new songs that had always been held so close in their throats bubbling free again.

It was funny. The way he smiled now, all that warmth and confidence found in the banishment of doubt, he almost looked like that god he held so close to his heart. 

“Where’s the food?” Red Jack asked, pushing his hat back on his forehead with a thumb peering down the length of the bar.

“Oh come on, you all had _one job_ ,” Ephrim started. “What happened?”

“ _Lem_ is being difficult,” Fero complained.

“Yes,” Lem rolled his eyes. “That’s exactly what’s happening.”

“They can’t decide what to order,” Throndir said. “It’s probably my fault. 

“Oh yeah, totally his fault,” Hella elbowed him reproachfully.

“Hey!” Throndir cried. Red Jack chuckled and ruffled Throndir’s hair quickly. Throndir felt himself start to blush and grabbed at his beer before it got any worse.

Hadrian shook his head and called to the bartender. His voice carried instantly, strong as steel through the din of the bar and the bartender was there within seconds. Fero stared at her reproachfully.

Hadrian slide the menu towards her. “We’ll have everything.”

It didn’t take long for plates to start arriving. They poured of the kitchen, crowding the bar with all manner of wonders: woven baskets filled with steaming potato rolls topped with sparkling sea-salt, skillets hot from the oven crammed with herbed sprouts sprinkled with bacon and seared in cider, mismatched clay plates painted with little roses and mice and fields of wheat each topped with it’s own glistening treasure, a whole chicken roasted to a red that Throndir didn’t know was possible and gleaming with honey, four huge rainbow trout stuffed with fresh greens tossed with yogurt and garlic and butter, even a strange pile that Fero explained was something called “pasta” drenched in cream and topped with mushrooms and leeks and brilliant pink cabbage. 

Throndir didn’t even try to hold himself back. They made it, they were here, together, and if anything was was worth celebrating, well, it didn’t get much better than that. It felt like being in Velas again for the first time, with the spring and the warmth and the fear silenced in people’s hearts, and now, an entire new bounty of civilization was falling onto plates before him. He had friends on all sides and life coursing through his veins and he let himself savor every single salty and sweet miracle, each crisp and succulent bite like it’s own little prayer.

He noticed the others watching him, at first just glances and smiles, then outright attention, and to his surprise they actually seemed more excited for the food because of it. Hella pushed her ale towards him to wash down a mouthful of pork-belly, watching enthralled as he chugged down three gulps and exclaimed his pleasure at the sour-tinged taste. Hadrian made him dip some of the garlic and scallion flatbread into the curried lamb and laughed aloud when Throndir groaned between mouthfuls. Fero made him try the burger, and it was better than he could have expected: juicy rare meat, with sharp cheese on top, and luscious just-barely sweet bread to soak up the flavor. And then of course he had to try the pâté which was amazing but if he was telling the truth was a little too dainty for him, he’d need about half a pound of it to feel like he got enough. Maybe they could make burgers out of pâté...

Before he knew it everyone was asking him to taste this, then that, staring as he thoroughly enjoyed every single ounce. Even Ephrim who Throndir just assumed would be outright disgusted couldn’t seem to help himself.

“This is incredible,” Ephrim laughed, “you’re like a ghost who hasn’t eaten for a hundred years and is allowed to come back for one feast.”

Throndir shrugged, swallowing a bite of pickled egg Fero had pushed on him. “I like food.”

“It’s like you’ve never even had it before,” Fero said, watching a second egg vanish.

“Well, I haven’t, I mean, most of it. We really only ever had tubers and deer where I grew up you know, and food was really, well, it was just to keep you going it wasn’t...” he laughed, gesturing at the table, “it wasn’t _this_.”

“Amazing.” Red Jack beamed as he watched him. “Truly inspiring. What a gift, to have so much left in this world to discover.”

Throndir took a chance and glanced at him half expecting to see that clouded sadness returned, the cloud of memories and reality that sometimes crossed him, but it was nowhere to be seen. Instead he simply looked as if he was trying to remember something.

“I’ll be back!” Red Jack exclaimed suddenly.

“What? Where’re you going?” Hadrian yelled, but he was already through the scurrying crowd and waved back at them as the insane straw hat vanished through the door.

“Aren’t you full?” Adaire marveled.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Throndir admitted. And he was, but it was pleasant feeling too, like a burrow made ready for winter. “But…”

“Yeah?”

“Well…” he grinned. “I wouldn’t argue if you wanted help me hunt down some dumplings.”

It was later than he thought when they all finally stumbled back to the inn. The town was still alive, it would probably be a month before it went quiet again, maybe even more. But the sounds were different under the moon-shadows and cooler air, quieter, fluttering down the streets just every now and again. He could hear the comforting sounds of the others settling into their rooms all down the hall: Lem and Fero arguing as Lem tried to keep his voice down and Fero’s drunken whispering echoed as loud as usual, Ephrim complaining, likely as he found a previously undiscovered stain on his clothes, Hella collapsing on her bed next door with a loud creak and a satisfied sigh.

Throndir kicked off his boots and let himself do the same. It was a good bed, and smelled clean and fresh with sea air. Kodiak’s snores filtered in around him from where he was splayed out under the window, kicking his feet every now and again as a dream caught him. Throndir gazed up at the ceiling, one arm flung over his head. The moonlight painted shadows of the tree outside against the upper wall, and in the shadow he could see night-flowers opening themselves to the breeze. He smiled and let his eyes shut.

There was a knock at the door. Kodiak’s ears perked up.

Throndir startled upright. He blinked, getting back to his feet with a drunken stumble, and eventually found his way to the door. “Uh, yes?”

“Here, open up!” It was Red Jack’s voice, which even when trying to be quiet rumbled around like thunder.

Throndir fumbled at the handle for a moment before pulling the door open. Red Jack was leaning against the doorframe on one arm peering down at him. His other arm was behind his back.

Throndir frowned at him skeptically. “Yesss?” He leaned to look behind his back.

Red Jack pivoted smartly so he couldn’t see what he was hiding. “Close your eyes.”

Throndir swallowed and tried not to blush, which was just stupid. He was too drunk, that’s all, everyone blushes when they’re drunk. Everyone knows that.

“Do I,” he cleared his throat slightly, “I mean, uh... really?”

Red Jack grinned toothily back at him. “Trust me.”

Throndir couldn’t help smiling back. He let his eyes slip shut.

“Open your mouth,” the thunder asked. And shit, there was really no point in fighting that blush now, huh? But he did as he was asked.

Throndir felt something cool press against his parted lips and almost opened his eyes but managed to catch himself. It was funny: smooth and tapered but almost bristly in places.

“Uhh…” he mumbled around it.

“Go on. Eat!” Red Jack prompted.

Throndir bit down. A bright luscious flavor flooded his mouth. It was sweet, but sweet in a way he’d never tasted before. Sun-sweet, barely tart around the edges, and the texture against his tongue... hearty, but lighter than meat, lighter than any fruit he’d ever had.

He opened his eyes. “Wow.”

“Thought so!” Red Jack beamed. He was holding a small wooden carton in his hand filled with bright red fruits that almost can to a point on one end, speckled with small seeds and topped with green leaf caps.

“‘S amazing,” Throndir couldn’t help grabbing another one and popping it in. “What are they?”

“Strawberries,” Red Jack answered. “They are at their best in late spring, just before summer. I haven’t had them in… well, in a quite some time.”

Throndir grabbed another. “So good. I mean, the uh, the tops are a little funny.”

“You’re actually not supposed to eat those.”

“Oh. Uh, oops.”

“Never mind!” Red Jack pressed the carton into his hands. “All yours. I’m glad you enjoy them as much as I do.”

“You don’t want some?” Throndir asked hurriedly, mouth still full.

“I originally was bringing back _three_ boxes.”

“Oh yeah?” Throndir laughed. “I mean,” he wiggled the carton, “I get it. Good berries.”

Red Jack gazed back at him and in the weight of that gaze, with the gentle sounds of his friend’s sleep around them, and the taste of strawberries on his tongue Throndir felt warm in a way he suddenly realized he never quite had before.

“Goodnight, Throndir,” Red Jack said. He reached out and took one more berry, raising it in a mock toast. “To tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Throndir smiled back. “To tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've really been missing writing fic and so loving the FATT fandom, so if anyone wants to send along prompts, NSFW totally cool, I have [prompt list here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/19WuWda3a4kTksl5sNe_6SwThnDhWIYsNiSlLMogKXGM/edit?usp=sharing>a%20prompt%20list%20up</a>%20for%20fun.%0A%0AYou%20can%20send%20me%20a%20message%20on%20<a%20href=)


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